


tarine.

by stormpilots



Category: Guardians of the Whills - Fandom, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Character, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Guardians Of The Whills Era, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 03:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormpilots/pseuds/stormpilots





	tarine.

You wrinkle your nose at the scent of the awful Tarine tea you hold in each of your hands, and you know he can sense your disgust, both because you know him better than you know yourself, and because you can see the way the corners of his mouth have turned up into the shadow of a smile.

You hand him a cup of the stuff before you sit down beside him on the floor, and you wait for him to take a sip from his cup before beginning on your own. That he eats and drinks regularly is more important to you than doing the same yourself, and you often worry that if you weren't around that he wouldn't.

Since the Empire took Jedha, things have been that way. He was always far too charitable, far too good, far to kind for his own good. He's always put everyone else before himself, and if you didn't put him first, nobody would. Killi Gimm might, perhaps, and Kaya, but even that was a maybe - they still have almost a dozen children in their care, who take up most, if not all, of their time.

That was why, even after you lost your faith, even after you gave up your role as a Guardian, you could never abandon Jedha. Yes, it is still your home, and that is reason enough to stay for some, but many others have abandoned the moon despite that, and you would happily have been among them if not for the blind idiot you got yourself attached to. He needs you, and he can't abandon his place on Jedha, can't leave the Temple of the Kyber behind him. You remain only for him.

And while he rarely acknowledges that, you know he knows. While he rarely gives you anything but trouble, you know he knows. While he rarely does anything that doesn't annoy you every which way - oftentimes deliberately - you know he knows. He knows that he's everything keeping you on Jedha, and he does appreciate, he's just terrible at showing it.

You wouldn't have it any other way, really. You can't imagine a world where he's anything other than overly annoying, playing up his blindness as if he can't see better than you can in spite of it. It doesn't make you angry, like you know it should, but instead, it only serves to endear him to you further.

As if he can hear your thoughts - which he might actually be able to do, you really aren't clear on how he just seems to know things about everyone he meets, and he does always seem to know exactly what you're thinking - he lifts his head, pale, unseeing eyes meeting your own. He's smiling again, but it's a different smile, he's no longer smiling at your hatred of Tarine tea, he's just smiling. You like seeing that. It seems like less and less frequently the Guardian is presented with a good reason to smile lately - since the Empire took the moon they called their home - and you only ever realise how much that saddens you when he does smile. You've missed seeing his smile, the way you swear his eyes light up despite the white milkiness of them, and the way he seems to lose several years when his face lights up. He doesn't smile like that anymore, but even a small smile like the one you're presented with now is good enough.

"What are you smiling at?" you ask him, despite knowing the answer already. Whenever you think about him he seems to take it as a compliment, even if you're thinking the most horrible things imaginable - which you usually aren't - and as a result you've found yourself thinking of him more and more.

"You," he replies simply, the same answer he always gives in response to the same question you always ask. You two really have fallen into a loop. Neither of you really mind.

"Me?" you prompt, looking for elaboration that you know he'll give you.

"You," he reiterates, with a nod this time as the last of that Tarine tea is drained from his cup, and the empty cup set on the floor. "You're thinking."

"I am. I do that sometimes."

"I've noticed."

"You know what I'm thinking about?"

"I always do."

"Will you share?

"Do I need to?"

"Humour me?"

He sighs and gives in, as he always does, still smiling, "You're thinking about me, again," he tells you, "about us. I can feel it."

"Correct."

"We both knew I would be correct before I spoke, Baze Malbus."

You smile at the way your name sounds on his lips, shrugging, "Perhaps."

"Have I ever been wrong before?"

"Well..." you tease, before exhaling in amusement through your nose, and shaking your head. While he can't see it, you know he'll feel it, "No, you haven't."

He settles for looking pleased with himself in response, hands clasped in his lap, small, smug smile on his lips. This usually ends up happening, and you always seem to fix the situation the same way - well, you call it "fixing", because it gets rid of that smug little smile - you bet he knows what's coming, in fact he probably wants you to react as you plan to.

He never does make the first move, he simply provokes it from you, it's how things have always been between you two, for years. In fact, ever since you met him, he's always seemed to know all your buttons, and just how to push them. It's infuriating, but simultaneously the most incredible thing you've ever known. Now that you think of it, that's a pretty good way of describing the man himself.

But your thoughts are abandoned when you begin to lean in towards him, setting your cup down on the floor. He doesn't move much, so you have to close the distance almost entirely on your own, placing one hand on the floor to keep yourself steady. You feel a small jolt from him when your lips meet his, and you can't help laughing softly through your nose. After a moment, you can feel his eyes closing - reflexively, you assume, since it doesn't really make any difference to him - and his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. You rest the hand that isn't steadying you on his cheek, cupping his face gently and brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

After a few moments, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours and smiling. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, opening your eyes to look at him. Up close like this you can see every detail, every pore, the smaller lines on his face, from the stress of living under the Empire. It's always when you're closest to him that you can best appreciate how beautiful he really is. Maybe you're biased, you've been madly in love with him for years after all, but you don't think there's ever been a sentient who was more beautiful in all the galaxy.

"You still think like a newlywed," he muses, his voice soft, snapping you out of your daze, "as if the novelty of a new relationship never wore off for you."

"Was it supposed to?" 

"Perhaps not."

You remain silent for a moment, thinking on what he said. You do tend to think of him the way you would imagine a newlywed thinking of their spouse, you realise now, and that kind of surprises you, despite the fact that he just told you so himself. You never really acknowledged that, you just let yourself think of him the way you did automatically.

You can tell by his smile that he knows you've realised he's right, "Don't misunderstand," he tells you after a second, "I don't think there's anything wrong with the way you think. In fact, I find it rather endearing. It's just uncommon for someone to still consider their partner like that after so many years."

"I can't imagine seeing you any other way."

"After this long, I don't believe you ever will."

"How do you see me?"

"I don't."

You sigh, wondering how you managed not to see that coming. You can't help laughing, though, and that just makes it all the more infuriating.

"You think you're hilarious, don't you?"

"So do you."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Well, you never were one to refuse him what he wants. You don't move as slowly as you did last time, so he seems even more surprised when he feels your lips against his, and even emits some noise akin to a yelp when you hoist him up into your lap. You hear a cup fall over, and assume it's his. It's empty, so you aren't bothered too much.

You kiss him deeper this time, now that he's closer and you don't have to lean on your hand to keep yourself upright. You can feel his arms draped over your shoulders, and rest your hands at either side of his waist, holding him steady.

He's the first to pull away again - he isn't quite as good at breathing and kissing simultaneously as you are - and he grins up at you breathlessly. That grin makes your heart skip a beat, it's so close to being as enthusiastic as some of the smiles you would see from him before Jedha fell.

He pauses for a moment, his attention seemingly directed at the floor behind him - although you can't be certain seeing as he can't exactly look there - and laughs softly through his nose. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what might be amusing him, but as soon as you glance over his shoulder you know. It wasn't his cup that fell. It was yours, which was still more than half full. You sigh, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

"Not cleaning it up," you mumble.

"You knocked it over."

"With you."

He shakes his head, rubbing your back as though you were upset rather than just irritated, "I'll clean it up for you, then."

"No, no," you huff, standing up and setting him on his feet, "you can go to sleep now. I'll clean it up."

He rolls unseeing eyes, although you can tell he was expecting this. He stands up on his toes - and you have to lean down anyway - to kiss your cheek, before simply leaving you to it, he knows you'll join him soon enough.

Once the floor doesn't smell like Tarine tea.


End file.
